Odd Jobs
by souleater1234567
Summary: I push Mr. Moushi up with my bare and dirtied foot, so he’s staring up at me with his pale, unblinking, blue eyes. Eyes fit for a dead guy. Dark sarcastic naruto


**Disclaimer: I do not own naruto.**

This story was drilling away at my brain, so here it is.

Told in Naruto's point of view.

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_Desperate screaming_

_For you I am whole again _

_I wish I was dead_

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As I waltz into the cheap dirty motel room, my brain is recording the shag carpeting brushing against my bare feet. I feel grimy. Probably because I am. Dirt is flaking off my tanned skin as I bounce onto the spring loaded bed. I run my blood stained fingers through my crusty hair. The woman didn't even question my appearance when she rung up Mr. Moushi's but now mine credit card. I absentmindedly scratched at my crotch, making the ticks scatter like cowards in a war.

This hotel room is fitting for a mangy beast like me. As I've been told, the ground cries when I walk upon it with my no good demon feet. But, none of this matters, what does is the one simple question, 'What am I going to do with Mr. Moushi'. the bed screeches when I stand up and make my way to the large suitcase I brought with me. The tumblers move into place as I unlock the coffin sized luggage. The top flops open and the now deceased Mr. Moushi falls to the ground in a heap with a load thud.

Guilt, and regret never register within me. Never. Two of the thousands of emotions I've never felt. Fortunately I've felt one of the most powerful, and if I do say so myself, important emotion to date. Bloodlust. The skeleton of my work. Without bloodlust I wouldn't be here in this sleazy hotel room with Mr. Moushi sprawled out on the shag. For without bloodlust my reasons would be unexplainable. But anyway, guilt, and regret, is for morel people with there oh so right MORAL RULES, or as I like to call them-

Self-righteous retards.

Five minutes.

I push Mr. Moushi up with my bare and dirtied foot, so he's staring up at me with his pale, unblinking, blue eyes. Eyes fit for a dead guy. He's looking up at me, and I accordingly feel not a thing. No pang of regret, or heart wrenching guilt, just as I said before, regret and guilt, not in my word bank.

What a filthy little beast I am.

Four minutes.

I wrap him up good and tight in a cheap brand of plastic wrap, and next a cheap foil, making sure to cover his strange webbed hands and feet. Mr. Moushi got tapped by me because of his webbed appendages. A man named Krawler sent me, along with a precious fifty too, and I quote, 'take care of the trash'.

Krawler is the head of the Zen church down the block. Apparently Mr. Moushi was a diligent follower of him, but one day Krawler got word of Mr. Moushi's mutation and sent for his death. This is where I come in. Krawler knew that shinobi aren't allowed to kill civilians, so he sent for me, Naruto 'Odd' Uzumaki. The 'Odd' was added to my name because of all the ridiculous odd jobs I do for the people of konoha. Such as, being a heat lamp for that restaurant down on Perker St. , which I believe is unsanitary and illegal. And of coarse my specialty, just plain old assassinations.

You know, the usual, stuff. So anyway, Krawler hollers for me and even invites me, the demon, into his precious six billon dollar house. That house is beautiful. The fireplace is made of nicely cut oak, and the IKEA furnishing will make your head spin. Spectacular.

I'd love to burn that house down.

Just go crazy all over that mansion, pee on all of the fancy magazines, and splash gasoline on the baby blue laced curtains, and to finish up place a huge bomb in the middle of the basement. Placing a bomb in the basement, with all the support beams around, is a great and practical stunt. I love the sound of burning wood shriveling up and filling your lungs with black ashes.

Okay, so I'm sitting on this 19th century mahogany chair, trying not to move, afraid that the expensive chair will fall apart if I even blink the wrong way. Krawler sits up sipping his earl gray tea, and says.

"Odd, I need you to take out some…trash for me." he referring to Mr. Moushi. Apparently, webbed hands and feet were frowned upon in Zen culture. Not that I would know, me plain old Naruto that is never invited to any sort of celebration, and don't even count religious gatherings.

I shift to the right on this really, really expensive chair and say. " I thought Zen was all about piece and love."

I wish I had never said that.

Krawler sips his tea and sets the small cup down. The steam plummeting up into the air. He laces his fingers and levels a glare at me from under his thin wired glasses. I can deal with the glare but I really need this money. I hope he doesn't cancel the contract.

"Last time I checked Mr. Odd, your line of work did not involve thinking." I can tell he's angry by the way he forms his T's. Every time he said the letter T little bits of spit lands on my face. The spit dribbles down past my eyes.

The band aid on my palm is lifting at the seams from me picking at it. I sit up slightly and pull my shirt down a little bit.

"No. It isn't but-"

Mr. Krawler slams his wrinkled old hand on the desk and cuts me off.

"Good. I want him dead by tomorrow. Now _please_ go away." he shoos me away with a passive hand gesture. I stand up pulling my shirt a little further, bow and turn to leave. As I'm walking to the door I hear a load thud, and I know it's the 19th century mahogany chair.

So I split.

Three minutes.

I grab a can of gasoline and start to pour it on Mr. Moushi's wrapped form. I trace the corners of the hotel room with gasoline and I start on the kitchen. I plug the sink and pour the liquid in, filling it to the brim. I plug the tub and pour a little in. I go crazy on the shower curtain.

After I'm satisfied with my work I grab a small device out of my pocket. My own invention. A small bomb that can hide pretty well and is almost always really loud. I stick the boom to the bottom of the stained bed and head for the door. I grab Mr. Moushi's wallet of the counter and step outside. I tape the crack of the door with blue masking tape making sure it secure.

Two minutes.

The pictures on the walls of the hotel hallway are depressing. Men and women in black and white. There children at their sides frowning. The parents smiles fake. Pictures of the original owners before they died and gave the piece of crap hotel to their children. The hallways walls are painted with pea soup green and floral arrangements.

I skip down the small space and waltz into the lobby. Only the desk girl is there bored out of her mind. She chews some bubble gum and pops a bubble, slowly filing her nails. She doesn't notice me until it to late.

I sneak around the desk and grab her head. She gasps and I shove a paper towel drenched in gasoline into her pie hole before she can scream for help.

She chokes and sputters into the make shift gag, gasoline being one of the most foul things to taste.

Her hair is soft beneath my fingertips and I'm thinking of doing a quickie but decide against it. I got a job to do. I lace my arms under her armpits and hold her wrists from moving, her feet going lax from me poking my knee into the back of her own.

Her feet make no noise dragging on the carpet as I drag her through the lobby to the hallway. I swiftly open my hotel rooms door breaking the tapes seal, and rush inside. I leave the door open just a crack and throw the girl to the ground.

She grabs at the paper towel tearing at it in an attempt to free herself from the vile taste of gasoline. I get on my hands and knees searching through the abandoned suitcase for a pair of handcuffs I keep just In case. The girl gets the towel out finally and gasps for clean air clutching the dirty carpet between her fingers.

I find the cuffs deep in the suitcase and get up heading toward the girl. She pitches forward drool running down from her lips. She shakily looks up at me in terror and gasps.

"P-please s-stop" a pathetic attempt if you ask me. After a while begging doesn't work on an assassin. My first assassination about three years ago I felt slightly bad for my poor helpless victim. So bad in fact I stayed by his side while he bled out holding his sobbing head and whispering sweet nothings to him.

But soon I just didn't care enough to use up my energy to feel sympathy for them. So now I just kill them or leave them stranded in some god forsaken place.

Sympathy can only last so long. Until you get fed up with _feeling _for people. And until you start to become annoyed of all there whiney 'help me's'.

At some point in our lives we have to get selfish. You cant stop it. But I don't really give a crap about anyone. That's just me. The heartless one.

I grab her wrist and roughly drag her to the bathroom as she struggles and kicks. I yank her around so she's in front of me and snap a cuff on her right arm. I push her through the door so hard she tumbles to the semi clean tile floor. I snap the other cuff around the sinks pipe and she accidentally bashes her head on the counters edge.

Civilians are so uncoordinated.

One minute.

I've been told I'm heartless by just about everyone I know or met. Except the hokage. He's a real sucker for orphans.

I walk out of the room and seal the door with tape again. I give the door a pat and walk to the lobby eyeing the rooms doors for people. I slip stealthily behind the front desk and replace the hotel room key back on its individual hook and with my handy screw driver pop the register open. My eyes quickly scanning the money and my hands swiftly grabbing as much my pockets can hold. I check to see if the hole in my pocket is sewed up and I'm out the door already.

My dirty fingers search for a pack of cigarettes and I finally find some. I shove one in my mouth and light it up fast.

Zero

I'm two feet from the hotel when a section of it bursts into red hot flames. A couple of hot embers floated past and twirled in mid air, twisting angrily and hypnotically in the moonlight.

I cross the street and duck into a small alleyway in front of the hotel to watch the show. I get settled in a surprisingly comfy trashcan and watch the second level of the building collapse onto the first, white melting metal twisting and blowing hot air on my face.

I'm long gone when the konoha fire team arrives to spray the fire with there fancy water jutsu's.

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_My life ended once_

_But my agony still stayed_

_I waited for you_

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I really have to update my other stories but I just had to write this. ITS NOT AN EXCUSE! I'm just bored. I really like haikus so I decided to write some. And yes i understand that a lot of the things in here are not in the naruto world but it wouldn't work without it. like gasoline or a cash register. But whatever.

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